Men Say They Only Learn

Peering Down Into The Water Where The Morning Sun Fashioned Wheels Of Light, Coronets Fanwise In Which Lay Trapped Each Twig, Each Grain Of Sediment, Long Flakes And Blades Of Light In The Dusty Water Sliding Away Like Optic Strobes Where Motes Sifted And Spun.

Pain For The Old Was No Longer A Surprise.

Remember Her Hair In The Morning Before It Was Pinned, Black, Rampant, Savage With Loveliness. As If She Slept In Perpetual Storm.

Men's Memories Are Uncertain And The Past That Was Differs Little From The Past That Was Not.

When You Die It's The Same As If Everybody Else Did Too.